


The Last True Man

by Charlemagne1



Category: Frankenstein - Mary Shelley, The Last Man - Mary Shelley
Genre: Angst, Canon Continuation, Canon Crossover, Dystopia, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Lionel is more tragic than any Frankenstein characters, Mary Shelley’s pandemic novel deserves more love, Post-Canon Fix-It, Unofficial Sequel, aftermath of plague
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-03
Updated: 2021-03-14
Packaged: 2021-03-14 14:00:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,032
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29172258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Charlemagne1/pseuds/Charlemagne1
Summary: A deadly plague has left Lionel Verney miserable as the last man on earth. Then he discovers a flier warning of an 8ft monster and decides to hunt the creature and reclaim the dominion mankind once held. But can he truly call himself the last man while abandoning everything that made humans human?**updates weekly**
Comments: 4
Kudos: 2





	1. I Wandered Lonely as a Cloud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lionel Verney celebrates New Years and decides to take fate into his own hands.

_“I wandered lonely as a cloud,_

_That floats on high o'er vales and hills…”_

_\--William Wordsworth_

Ice had brought the once-great fountains of Rome to a standstill. A dusting of fresh snow cloaked the quiet streets in a white blanket, disturbed only by the hoof prints of horses picking their way past the overturned coaches that had once restrained them. Off the street, the towering doors of St. Peter's Basilica stood ajar to welcome the white flakes that blew in tiny circles across the cracked tile. I saw little reason to shut the dancing flecks out—today was a celebration!

“To a new year!” My voice echoed off the marble saint statues as I raised a crystal glass to the golden ceiling. Nearly tripping over my embroidered cloak, I ran across the cleared church to where my sweet Idris was shooing little Evelyn away from a flask of Rome’s finest wine.

“Idris, I fear we’ve raised a thief!” I chuckled, pushing the drink away from my son’s stubby fingers. I ruffled his hair and the curls tickled my palm. “Did Alfred put you up to this?”

I held my laughter as my other son’s head disappeared behind the towering statue of Saint Longinus. “Careful now, that monument was designed by mankind’s greatest minds!”

Taking Idris by the hand, we danced around the splotches of winter sun on the decorative tiles. Just as we’d done at Windsor Castle before evacuees fleeing the plague had crowded the rooms. I forced the image of their jutting ribs and dull eyes from my mind.

“And you’ll be baking mince pie this year, of course!” I forced a smile. “It is tradition after all! Clara loves them. Adrian too!” I guided Idris across the tile to where Adrian sat in a prince’s gown embedded with emeralds, laughing with my sister Perdita. Her eyes—once dulled from grief—had brightened. She adored the ruffly pink dress I had found for her. They all did. For my family, I would scour every continent if it brought a smile to their blue lips.

My head lifted to the ceiling in ecstasy. The golden walls and paintings blended in a whirlwind. We swung faster and faster, my laughter floating to the rafters to make up for the other's silence. I laughed and laughed.

And laughed.

My knees hit the tile and Idris clanged beside me before rolling into the shadows. The remaining suits and dresses I had hung on wireframes loomed above me. Never to be worn by man or woman or son or wife or friend again. The laugher turned to sobs.

“To 2100—the last year of the world!”

The candlelight gave the saint’s chiseled faces an imitation of life. It was too much, and my palms pressed against the lakes forming in each eye. A low whine came from my left as a warm tongue licked the frozen tears from my cheeks. My hands fumbled around until locating the shaggy fur and pulling the dog close.

“What are we to do, Bysshe?” I sobbed into the sheepdog’s warm pelt. “No one has entered Rome. None will ever come. I thought the knowledge stored here would sustain me as it did when Adrian introduced me to the finer aspects of society, but what use is studying the history of a dead race? Why walk through streets crowded with sculptures and theaters reduced to sheltering wild beasts?” I glared at the wireframe dressed in a prince’s clothing.

“Adrian, why did you pluck me from a life of savageness and show me what living could be only to die and leave me alone? Why couldn’t I have perished as a stubborn loner in the countryside instead of wandering through these marble and gold skeletons of humanity?”

The Adrian-frame remained silent. Bysshe whined again, and my voice softened. “No, you’re right, Bysshe. 'Tis better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all.' I cherish the memories of those far more deserving of life than I.”

But memories were all they were. I thought of Adrian extending his hand to me on our first meeting. I had been crouching bloodied and wounded against an oak—a feral animal sustained by spite. He had looked past my hatred with the faith I could be saved from myself. Suddenly my patheticness dawned on me. This display of misery would achieve nothing. Adrian never stopped believing in the good of humanity. As the final remnant of our species, that legacy lived on through me alone.

“Bysshe, we’re leaving.” Standing, my gaze swept over the empty evening gowns and suits I’d so carefully positioned around the church. I turned toward the entrance. Purpose made each step firm on the tile, sending a strong _clack_ through the halls.

“Fate has spared me alone, so I shall live.”

*

The preparations for my exodus were swift. I found a rowboat in decent shape tethered to the docks and a surplus of Indian corn stockpiled behind the stage of a dark theater. The gnawed bones of the ill-fated owner gave no complaint as I hauled the jars away.

Having secured transportation and food, I entered the library for more relics. The titles told me what was fiction, history, and societal critiques, but what did the written word mean to the termite seeking a meal? Though the libraries of the world were thrown open to me, I could not leave Rome’s archives to nature’s destruction. They were the sole link connecting me to the recollections of my ill-fated species. I stuffed my satchel until the flap couldn’t be fastened and departed.

Outside, Bysshe abandoned a squirrel he had cornered up an overgrown pine and joined me for a final pass down the empty streets. We reached the docks in good time, where a large fishery towered above us. It was likely visible for miles on the open sea. Something twisted within me. Placing my satchel beside Bysshe, I ordered him to stay and rushed back into the city.

*

The small rowboat bobbed in the waves. My final moments in Rome had been rash. Childish, even. Yet some part of me still clung fervently to hope. My painted message in every language I could cram on the fishery’s wall faded as we drifted into unknown waters.

_Survivor!_

_You are not alone!_

_Sail south along the coast, and you shall find the tiny bark,_

_freighted with Lionel Verney—the LAST MAN._


	2. Thy Streets for Evermore Will Silent Be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As despair sets in, Lionel discovers a flyer warning against an 8ft monster in a nearby town. Also best boy Adrian is here. Yay!

_“And, little town, thy streets for evermore_

_Will silent be; and not a soul to tell_

_Why thou art desolate, can e'er return.”_

_\--_ _John Keats_

“You’re still up, Lionel?”

“My apologies, your Highness!” I slammed my book shut, lurching forward to snuff what remained of the candle. A hand grabbed mine, smooth and gentle from a life amongst books and silk sheets. Mine were dried and rough in contrast. The weak light illuminated the dirt beneath my fingernails.

“Lionel, I am your friend and hardly royalty! Please, do not call me such formal titles. We are equals, you and I.” Adrian smiled, his blue eyes bright. “The Ulswater library is always open to you. I was just surprised to see you awake at this hour.”

“Shepherds work late nights,” I chuckled. It was easy to laugh now that those dark days were behind me. “In the mountains, I merely survived—hunting and pillaging where I could—but these books of poetry, philosophy, and art have shown me the true depth of human existence! It’s a shame to think on those years I wasted throwing my weight around.” 

“How could you have known better? You were shunned by your town and never taught there could be more to life than hate and survival! I think all men would benefit from the opportunity for proper education.” Adrian smiled. He believed it. “What are you reading?”

I let the book open to the introduction. “A most interesting tale by a Captain Robert Walton. It is called _Frankenstein_ , or _The Modern_ ,” I paused, frowning at the words before me.

“Modern Pro-me-the-us?” Adrian pointed to each syllable so I could pronounce the words with him.

“You’ve heard of it, then?”

“It’s a heavily debated text. Some call it fact, others fiction. It was poor luck that the author became mixed up in the French Revolution and beheaded before his account could be verified. Many historians believe it was a ruse for clout after Walton’s botched Arctic exploration.”

“What do you think?” I leaned forward. Whatever Adrian thought was fact to me. 

“I want to believe the House of Frankenstein’s misfortunes are a mere myth.” Tears slid down Adrian’s pale cheeks. “I pity them all! The creature, Victor, no man should suffer as they did! I wish that one day, mankind can learn to love one another and not be ruled by the hate and misunderstandings that dominated those poor souls!” Adrian shooed my hand away with a sad smile. “My apologies, Lionel. Mother has warned against letting emotions sway me.”

“You’re fine!” I stammered. Adrian’s great empathy was what made him so beloved throughout England, though his words confused me. “But you really consider Frankenstein’s monster a human?”

“Of course,” Adrian tipped his head to the side. “However he entered the world, the creature felt love and regret as we do. Are those qualities not what makes us human?”

Bysshe’s whine jolted me from my daydream. The marble busts of Greek scholars from Adrian’s library melded away into miles of black sea reflecting the fading stars and the splinter-laden wood of my rowboat. 

“What is it, boy?” I called to the sheepdog standing with his shaggy front paws on the boat’s starboard. His brown eyes stared wistfully at the nearby coast through tufts of white and grey fur. He cared little for the boat's constant rocking, but abandoning the ship meant leaving me, so he braved the waves. For that I was grateful. I settled back against the bow of the rowboat, willing myself back to the hazy library. Behind my eyelids was an onslaught of pondering rain. I opened them with a huff and watched a lone cloud drift across the sinking moon.

Frankenstein’s monster. Any pity I once held for the tragic figure had turned to loathing. After a handful of bad encounters, he had given up on humanity and chosen death. A humanity I was forever barred from. I would not bow so easily. 

My rowboat drifted by a dark coastal village. The cozy cottages and empty milk bottles glinting in the moonlight gave the illusion that the town was only sleeping, but the weeds crowding former gardens told me plague had found the inhabitants first. 

Had children chased each other in those streets? Their parents fondly watching from the steps? My vision blurred with tears. A yellowed curtain hanging over one window twitched. I blinked rapidly to refocus on the fabric. It swooshed again, then stilled. 

Was someone inside? 

“Hey! HEY!” I shouted, fumbling for my oars. My heart pounded in my ears as I steered the boat toward the shore with a suddenness that nearly tipped the small vessel. Within that home had to be another human—perhaps the village’s lone survivor who thought themselves the last of their kind doomed to wander the earth alone.

“I mean you no harm!” I called, my voice scratchy from lack of use. “Hello? Bonjour? Guten Tag? Hola? Olá?”

Abandoning my boat, I dove into the ocean and swam the remaining distance to land. The moon illuminated the stone pathway as I charged into the village. 

“Do not be afraid! I am a friend who has been desperately searching for civilization! Please, show yourself!” The cottage’s door splintered around the hinges as I flung it open. 

A raccoon licking a bowl on the table leaped backward with a hiss. Bysshe charged past me with a gleeful bark and chased the animal around the small room. Past the cold ash in the fireplace and under the dusty table where the bowl’s contents were being hauled off by lines of black ants. The raccoon shot between my legs and out the door with Bysshe close behind, leaving me alone in the empty cottage. 

A corn-husk doll lay trampled on the dirt floor. I brushed the grit off the patchwork dress and sat her on one of the empty dining chairs. A table for one. 

I stumbled backward and knocked open a door. The stench of carrion enveloped me as I beheld the cottage’s former inhabitants. The flesh was peeling off the bone and dripping into a puddle of human soup beneath the keeled-over corpses. A cloud of flies rose at my disruption, and I fled the home gagging through my sobs. 

My legs carried me to the neighboring cottage. In the corner, a decayed woman rested in a cobweb-infused rocking chair. I went to the next dwelling to find it ransacked of any items of worth. Through the village I went, flinging open the doors to be met with more corpses and a reality I denied. It was only when I had searched every cottage and scoured the surrounding fields that the truth caught up with me: this town was vacant of human life, as was the world. I would not find a companion here, or anywhere no matter how long I searched. 

Bysshe trotted up to me, his tongue lolling from exhaustion. The raccoon chattered tauntingly and scampered back inside the first cottage. She would profit from the shelter. Perhaps she was building a nest for her little raccoon babies? Together, they would spread across Europe and occupy the empty cities. I smiled. 

A chuckle escaped me as I walked back inside. A matchbox lay beside the fire. I lit a match and tossed it on the table, ignoring the raccoon's squeal as I left the blazing wood behind. Then I lit the wooden roof of the next cottage, and the next, until the village was a wall of flame and the black smoke blocked the fading stars. 

“This town was built by humans, FOR HUMANS!” I screeched, leaping around as my destruction unfolded on both sides of the cobbled street. “Shall I not bestow a malediction on every other of nature's offspring, which dares live and enjoy, while I live and suffer?”

Falling embers singed my vest and forced me back to the oceanfront. My boat bobbed in the shallow water where Bysshe paced. The crackling wood was more distant now, and the sea breeze cleared my head. For the first time in over a year, my head felt empty. Peaceful.

“I’m done hoping, Bysshe.” I picked up the sheepdog and waded into the water, placing him in the boat before climbing in myself. Collapsing on the cramped floor, I stared at the clouds tainted red from the rising sun. 

“I will embrace my fate: I am the last man on earth.” Numbness spread through my limbs. No longer would I entertain the hope of finding another like me and be disappointed time and time again. Accepting my fate was so easy. I didn’t have to care. I didn’t have to feel. I would never let myself be hurt again. Free from emotional burden, the physical world would sustain me as it had in my youth. I was a being of flesh and bone fueled by the primitive drive of survival. 

My satchel had fallen beneath a wooden seat. I opened the flap, scanning the titles salvaged from Rome. All worthless now. One by one, I tossed them overboard. The poorly bound stack at the bottom made me pause. Written by a quick, feverish hand, the title read:

DEDICATION

TO THE ILLUSTRIOUS DEAD.

SHADOWS, ARISE, AND READ YOUR FALL!

BEHOLD THE HISTORY OF THE

LAST MAN.

My autobiography. Walton’s publication on the life of Victor Frankenstein had inspired me more than I’d care to admit. Each page I had devoted to preserving the legacy of those I loved. Perdita. Clara. Idris. Little Evelyn and Alfred. Lord Raymond. Adrian. Their acts of bravery and persistence. Why had someone as unworthy as I been the one to survive? 

My weakness toward such tortured feelings turned to loathing, and I hurled my book into the waves. A distant splash sounded, and it was gone.

“That chapter of humanity has closed. We will look forward, Bysshe, never back!” Together, we will travel this empty world. We shall go on grand adventures and fill our days seeking dangers the poets of old dared dream of!” 

But where? The world was so vast!

Be it fate or coincidence, a singed flyer floated in the wind. I snatched the yellowed paper from the sky, the drawing made me pause before I hurled it overboard too. 

Beneath the title of “Bacoli Menace” was an image of what I could only describe as a monster. Its fur was a matted mess varying in color, texture and length that covered the body down to the massive fingertips clamped around the leg of a wailing infant whose mother screamed in exaggerated dismay. Despite the creature’s massive size (a good eight feet, if it and the woman were sized accurately) I could not deny the human likeness in its hideous face. But when had any human, past or present, had such feverish yellow eyes? 

I wrung my hands, realizing my fists were clenched. This was no human, but a fiend! A monster who had terrorized the town’s inhabitants in their final days.

Little did it know, it was about to meet its match. Mankind was not to be underestimated.

“This flyer claims Bacoli is only a few miles away. We should arrive early in the afternoon!” I placed the flyer in my pocket and grabbed the oars. The sky grew redder as the sun rose above the horizon. What was that old saying of man? Red skies in the morning, sailors take warning? The ringing in my ears warped into waves beating against a splintering ship hull. My head throbbed at the memory of pounding raindrops, of Adrian clutching Clara by the ship’s helm, reassuring her land was in sight. That her uncle Lionel would carry them to shore. That Lionel would protect them.

“Show me your worst!” I cried over the imagined storm. “I fear nothing!”

A single tear slid down my cheek and splashed into the ocean. “I’m sorry, Adrian. But you were wrong. Your scholarship means nothing now. This is the only life I can lead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alas, the plot commences! Hopefully it wasn't too slow getting started. Also, I will slap dem "Frankenstein/French Revolution" parallels in every fic I can, XD


	3. But What it is He Cannot Tell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lionel searches for the mysterious monster on his flyer and is not disappointed.

_“It moaned as near, as near can be,_

_But what it is she cannot tell.—_

_On the other side it seems to be,_

_Of the huge, broad-breasted, old oak tree.”_

_\-- Samuel Taylor Coleridge_

The stench of sulfur hung in the air as I drug my rowboat onto Bacoli’s shore. Opening the jars I’d brought from Rome, I stuffed my empty satchel with corn and a flask before heading into the village. 

The mid-day sun highlighted abandoned carriages and rusted shovels as I picked my way through the weeds sprouting on the dirt pathway. I checked a few dark cottages to ensure the alleged monster wasn’t sheltering beneath their roofs. Empty tables and cabinet doors left open were all that greeted me. Unwilling to stumble upon more diseased corpses, I quickened my pace until the forest shielded the ghost town from view. I was content to never look upon another relic of mankind again.

Bysshe was a far more entertaining spectacle. The sheepdog seemed to realize our boating days were over and plunged into piles of shriveled leaves before popping his head up several feet away. Laughing, I hopped over a dried ravine and brushed the crushed foliage from his white head.

“Why did humans even _want_ to spend their lives crammed beneath a roof and bricks? The earth and sky are all we need to get by, right boy? We can live out here!”

I scratched Bysshe’s ear and his tail sent the leaf litter flying. The crisp aroma of crushed plants was a nice break from the overpowering scent of sulfur. Through the leafless trees, a few grey clouds floated in the winter sky—offering no clues to the scent’s source.

We continued like that for hours, my attention split between Bysshe’s play, the mysterious scent, and potential claw marks or tracks to indicate the monster’s whereabouts. As the forest thinned and sloped downward into a sprawling meadow, the sounds ahead surprised me.

Pushing past a dead bush, I found myself overlooking a herd of grazing sheep. There were ten in total, staying near one another and giving me sidelong glances. I backed into the woodland before they took notice of Bysshe. The stale corn rattled in my satchel. When was the last time I’d eaten fresh meat? My repressed memories of shepherding flooded back to replace where scholarship had been stored. If Bysshe could separate a lamb from the flock, I could easily overpower the animal.

“Bysshe, our supper awaits! Sic em’ boy!” I ordered, pointing to the flock.

The sheepdog cocked his head and scratched an ear with his hindleg. He had been raised to protect sheep and would not inflict harm on them so easily.

As for me, I was having lamb chops.

Motioning for Bysshe to wait in the dead bushes, I crept onto the pasture. The sheep watched me curiously—clearly used to humans. I took a step. Nothing. Another step. And another. The sheep grazed lazily. I could see each white strand on a little lamb nearby.

A distant explosion shook the ground around us. The flock bolted and I followed with an angry shout. The sheep ran along the top of a rocky hill where a sea of barren trees cluttered the ground below. A cramp stabbed my side as the flock ran ahead. I had spent too long dawdling in Rome’s libraries! My legs grew heavy with exhaustion. I had to act!

Thought fled me and I leaped toward a ewe near the edge. My face brushed the soft fleece as we tumbled over the side of the rocky hill. Clutching the wool for support, the world spun around me as the sheep and I tumbled down the jagged rocks that stabbed my back with each turn.

We broke apart at the bottom, and I lurched to my feet, stumbling as the forest fell into place around me. The ewe lay on the ground with her head twisted at an awkward angle. The neck was broken.

I’d done it.

I clapped my hands, laughing over the panicked bleating from above as Bysshe half-slid down a gentler incline to reach me.

“These old bones still have some vigor left, Bysshe!” I knelt beside the sheep, amazed by my recklessness and its success. “You’ll like lamb. I’ll give you a leg to tide you over while I start a fire!”

The sheepdog gave the dead animal a sniff. The whites of his eyes showed as he turned to me, unsure of this new development.

“You’ll see,” I reassured him while scooping up the ewe. I had lost muscle since my teenage years of shepherding, but to my pleasant surprise, I could carry the animal in spite of the throbbing scratches across my back.

Yet the presence of the flock troubled me. If the monster on the flyer did exist, the sheep would be decimated by now. They were prey animals helpless without a shepherd to guide them. Had the flyer been a joke? Perhaps an attempt to soften the brutality of the plague with tales of greater suffering elsewhere?

My hold tightened on the wool. This could be contemplated after dinner.

An animalistic screech echoed through the winter forest. I whirled around as a massive shape slid down the hill on two furry legs. The creature reached me in a single bound, its hairy paws stretching forward. I dropped the sheep and leaped backward, stumbling over Bysshe and crashing onto the grass mere feet from the beast.

The monster hunched over the ewe with another splitting cry, prodding the dead animal frantically. The flyer hadn’t exaggerated its massive size, nor the odd quality of its uneven, almost patchwork, fur. Frizzled raven hair drooped over its face to hide any facial features. Ignoring me, its hands lifted the dirt-stained ewe. It was taking off with my prey! Hunger swamped my initial fear.

“Back off!” I grabbed a branch and charged. “You devil! You hideous wretch! Find your own meal!”

The monster caught my branch mid-swing and snapped the wood like a wheat stalk between freakishly human fingers. I froze. Two points of yellow stared through the knotted raven hair. Within those inhuman eyes was a visible surprise and undeniable intelligence. It was thinking. Analyzing. Through the mess of hair, its black lips parted.

Bysshe rushed to my rescue, circling the creature and barking with a viciousness I had never heard before. The monster’s mouth shut as its eyes flickered to me, then Bysshe. It jumped several feet backward. With my sheep in one arm, its freehand scaled the steep hill and propelled its massive body over the top. I started forward in pursuit, but the steep incline stopped me. Even if I caught it, the monster possessed a strength I could never combat with my bare hands. I would have to let my meal go. Today, at least.

“But I’ll be back,” I said, wiping the blood from a cut on my arm. “This menace is more ape-like than I anticipated. It has a man’s wits trapped in the body of a wild beast.” My voice rose to the top of the hill. “Enjoy your victory today, monster! You will learn to fear the last man! I will show you humanity's power! Our intelligence! Our wrath! We can still fight back!”

I gasped for breath, leaning against a tree for support. I wasn’t used to this sort of action or the burning sensation in my strained muscles. My heart beat with an urgency that hadn’t been there before. For the first time in over a year, I felt truly alive. I closed my eyes, savoring the feeling.

“I’m ready for the challenge.”

*

It was dark by the time Bysshe and I made our way back to the string of cottages. The monster’s unexpected intelligence made me weary of sleeping without proper protection, and I endeavored to spend the night drifting safely off the coast.

As we approached the sandy beach, the moonlight revealed a silhouette of destruction ahead. Chewing my lip, I hoped my eyes were playing tricks, but denial was futile. My boat had been smashed to splinters! The crucial supplies for my mission stolen! I held a broken plank to the moon, titling the bowed-in wood. This was sabotage. The monster didn’t want me to leave.

It seemed a confrontation was inevitable, whether I willed it or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ayyyyye it's the boy! 
> 
> I'm sure this little sheep incident won't come back to bite Lionel in the future...


	4. Did He who Made the Lamb Make Thee?”

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lionel searches for food but meets the monster instead.

_“I will trudge on, my eyes fixed on my thoughts,_

_Without seeing anything outside, without hearing any sound,_

_Alone, unknown, back bent, hands crossed,_

_Sad, and the day for me will be like the night.”_

_\--Victor Hugo_

With my boat in splinters, Bysshe and I set up camp on the dirt floor of a cottage near the village outskirts. I couldn’t bring myself to use the bed with its moth-eaten sheets made and waiting for someone who would never return.

The sharp January chill made me long for my stolen blankets as Bysshe curled up in a ball beside me with his shaggy tail drooped over his nose. The gashes on my back throbbed with an intensity that kept me awake through the night, leaving me to listen to Bysshe’s gentle snoring and the sounds of sails tearing in a violent storm that only raged in my head.

My joints were stiff the next morning as I stretched on the cracked steps of the cottage. The handful of kernels rattling in my satchel would be barely enough for breakfast. With my jars of corn stolen, I needed to find a steady food source before pursuing the monster further. Behind the cottage was a weed-ridden garden protected by wire fencing. Light shone through a patch of snaking vines in the garden’s corner, and I tore out the sappy plants to discover an abandoned ax reflecting the winter sun overhead.

I tested the weapon on the fence and gathered the chopped wire strands before reentering the woods. Staying clear of the sheep’s meadow from yesterday, I opted to travel in a more open section of the forest where I could keep an eye on my surroundings.

There was no shortage of grey squirrels rooting through the leaf litter around me. As Bysshe chased them up trees, I went to work placing my clumsy wire snares in the brush and low branches we passed.

As we continued, the frozen ground grew uneven and rocky. Barren hills of grey stone and pebbles rose up to replace where trees had been. No squirrels hopped around the deep craters in the stone or the smoke pooling from jagged fissures in the earth. My snares were useless. This was a hellscape devoid of life.

Intrigued, I ignored the dizzying stench of sulfur and pressed onward, admiring the blackened piles of hardened stone spilling over the hills of grey shale. Steeper hills ahead blocked how far the rocky landscape stretched, and I began to climb to view the environment in full. Despite the rising temperature, there was beauty in the silence and signs of a past tragedy. The dulled colors of grey stone and smoke connected with me in a way the lively squirrels and forest couldn’t. Minus the sulfur smell, the housing potential here was a step up from the empty village.

The loose pebbles on the steep hill proved a challenge to scale, and I dropped to my knees to crawl the final feet. Bysshe paced on the ground below, either unable or unwilling to climb himself. I called down reassurances as my gaze remained fixed on the level ground ahead.

A hunched shape stepped into view from behind a massive boulder. I recognized the monster’s broad shoulders against the winter skyline. A dislodged stone sent me scrabbling to regain balance. The wind was dreadful from this height and whipped up the monster’s frizzy locks to reveal glimpses of the face beneath. A horrible sight! The flesh surrounding its sunken yellow eyes was all wrong, though I could not find words for what exact detail made the face so appalling. Within that human-like face of mismatched flesh stretched and scrunched over jutting cheekbones was hints of powers not meant to exist in this plane of existence. Of things unnatural. Dangerous.

I forgot my vow to abandon the world of men and whispered:

_“What immortal hand or eye,_

_Dare frame thy fearful symmetry?_

_Did he who made the Lamb make thee?”_

No, this fiend could not have been molded by a Holy Lord! The way it tipped its head to study me in an imitation of humanity only made its peculiar features more disturbing. 

“Begone, you fiend! You mockery of mankind!”

I pulled the ax from my belt and swung it threateningly. Its sharpened blade reflected the sun.

The monster edged back toward the boulder. Had my shouting frightened it off? Its hand felt behind the rock and pulled out a wooden beam. Did it use tools?

No matter, my ax had a clear advantage over some old board! The monster’s yellow eyes bored into mine. It wedged an end of the wood beneath the boulder and pressed down. The boulder shuttered with a creak and tipped.

My ax dropped and I rolled out of the bouncing stone's path. I half-slid, half-tumbled down the hill as the boulder surpassed me and flew down the slope before rolling into a crater amongst the flat stones. The thud it made on impact shook the ground as I reached the bottom. Scrambling to my feet, I stared up at the monster. It held two massive stones in each hand.

“Why are you doing this?” I shouted, not sure what I expected for an answer. The monster hurled its weapons down on me and I jumped back as they cracked the stone I’d stood on moments prior. Such great strength did not alarm me this time, and I charged back up the hill. Swiping my ax off the loose gravel, I dodged another rock. The monster shrieked and grabbed two more massive chunks of stone. I leaped aside as they smashed into the ground and sent the gravel flying.

“I’ll teach you to steal my blankets! To wreck my ship!”

The monster hurled a stone slab over my head that nearly crushed Bysshe barking at the bottom of the hill. My dog’s barks momentarily faded to whimpers as he staggered backward before continuing his vocal attack. He couldn’t dodge forever. I shuttered to think of the massive fiend hurling another granite chunk at Bysshe’s head. Biting my lip, I began to descend the hill with one eye on the loose gravel behind me and the other on the monster. The fiend held two more stones above his head, watching.

At the bottom, Bysshe licked my scraped hands as I ushered him away. The onslaught of stones had ceased. My enemy knew it had won. It lowered its arms still clutching the massive rocks. The chilly breeze failed to cool the heat pulsing throughout my veins as I turned away. I could picture those black lips smirking at my sorry display, reveling in humanity's petty attempts to reclaim dominion over the beasts of the earth! I stalked back into the forest with my head held high. I wasn’t beaten yet!

My fists clenched as I stomped through the woods cursing the playful grey squirrels leaping around me. Lamenting how the invasive species had taken over the woodlands the native red squirrels had once thrived in. I expressed no remorse when several snares had succeeded in capturing the prey lured by my corn.

Back at the cottage, I made quick work of skinning and cooking the squirrels. The warm meat ebbed the emptiness within me and took the edge off the ringing in my ears. As Bysshe chewed his share, I rooted through the drawers until finding a jar of salt that I coated the leftovers with before hanging the meat outside to dry. Who knew how long this cold would last? The sooner I had a stockpile of food, the sooner I could focus my attention on more important matters.

*

Bysshe’s growl woke me. The moon’s faint silver light lit the empty hooks swinging in the breeze. I rushed outside into the falling snow, snatching several empty hooks off the ground. Only one creature was clever enough to have unhooked the meat without instantly waking Bysshe or me.

Large tracks in the fresh dusting of snow led off into the night. Perhaps “clever” was a stretch.

As I rushed inside to grab my ax, something crunched beneath my foot. On my doorstep was a now-broken twig with crushed berries, some acorns, and a handful of grain.

A meal.


	5. Spectre more Accursed than They

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lionel follows the monster to its den. It goes about as good as you'd expect.

_“Go—and with Gouls and Afrits rave,_

_Till these in horror shrink away_

_From spectre more accursed than they.”_

_\--John William Polidori_

I stared dumbly at the food beneath my feet. Bysshe sniffed the berries and growled. The monster must have left the meal here. Why? Was it some sort of tradeoff? Steal my entire stock of meat and leave dusty grain in its place? Stepping away, I picked up the dried berry branch between two fingers. It almost seemed like a guilt offering. Like the monster felt bad for its theft and had left the food to clear a guilty conscience.

Did it have a conscience?

No, that was foolish thinking. Stuffing the food inside my pockets, I rushed inside to where the dusty bed remained made as it had on my arrival. I ripped off the quilt and wrapped it around myself. Dust rose around me as I tore apart the daisy-patterned sheets with my bare hands. The tearing fabric sounded like sails shredding in a vicious storm. Bysshe sniffed the discarded scraps as I wrapped the fabric around a thick stick and dipped it into an expired can of cooking oil. Placing the tip in the fire sent my torch blazing. Grabbing my ax, I plunged into the starless night with blood on my mind. 

The falling snow stung my eyes as I followed the monster’s fading tracks. Bysshe seemed to grasp the gravity of the situation and kept his snout to the ground to sniff the footprints. We followed them through the forest and into the meadow. As we traversed the hilly terrain, the worn quilt I had wrapped around my body snagged on a small tree. With little thought, I chopped down the plant and hurried onward as more saplings snapped beneath my feet. Another branch caught the fabric, and I held my flaming torch to the culprit. It wasn’t a tree at all, but two sticks tied together in the shape of a cross. 

I was trampling _graves_. Hacking apart the only indication that people were beneath me. I stumbled away from the crosses in horror.

The monster’s tracks were mere dents in the snow now, and I promised the dead to return and mend their cemetery before continuing my chase. 

A small cabin rose out of the hillside. Warm light in the window beckoned me forward. I peered through the panes as the shadow of a massive, hunched figure flickered against the wooden wall. The monster was oblivious that I’d followed it to its den. My frostbitten fingers tightened around the ax. To think this thieving abomination was sheltering from the winter in a structure built for a family. A family buried on the other side of the hill. Resting in place. Not drifting belly-up in the ocean. Crashing waves filled my ears.

With an animal cry, I hurled myself at the door, sending the flimsy wood splintering as I burst into the cabin. The monster whirled around with wide yellow eyes. 

I wanted to reprimand it. To savor my—and by extension humanities—upper hand on the fiend who had tormented the village in its final days. Yet words failed me, there was only the storm in my skull. Nothing else. I screamed and spat my fury as I charged with my raised ax. The monster sprang on a rocking chair, balancing as the furniture rocked back and forth until my ax put an end to that. The monster rolled to the dirt floor. I leaped over the chair and sliced the ax downward. The monster sprang to its feet and my ax burrowed into the wooden floor. I pried it out with a shriek and dove toward the monster rushing to the door. The coward! 

Bysshe sprang and clamped his jaws around the fiend’s furry arms. The monster shook him off with ease, but its brief pause gave me time to get close. My ax swung forward. The brute caught the weapon by the head with two fingers and pried it from my hand. It flung the ax to the floor and shoved me. I flew backward and crashed into a table that buckled under my weight. Yet, even as I rose from the crushed furniture and rushed to the door where the monster was bounding up the hillside, I knew it hadn’t used its full strength against me. 

Bysshe limped over, holding his crooked front leg at a painful angle. I bent beside him in the quiet cabin, hushing his whimpers with praises and pats. Part of the monster’s fur was lodged in Bysshe’s teeth, and I teased it out. The fur’s texture made me freeze. I recognized the coarse feeling of the short brown strands. This was _bear_ hair. I turned the fur over. The underside was tanned, dried skin.

The monster didn’t have a mismatched pelt. The monster was wearing _a stitched coat of animal skins!_

What had I been hunting, then? I took in the cabin’s surroundings. The furniture still standing looked cheap, but clean. A pot over the fire simmered. Bowls of berries, nuts, and other dried plants I had found on my doorstep lay nearby. The bed was unmade, but its sheets smelled of the lemongrass soap my Idris had once washed our clothes with. 

It was as though a human had taken up residence here.

A full-sized mirror had been knocked down in the struggle. I turned it over, flinching at the gnarled face within. The once golden hair had withered to a stringy grey that floated rather than fell around a face cracked from days on the open sea. Bloodshot eyes studied me through layers of dried blood and mud that spilled down over the rags I had called clothes.

Could this savage be the last man? This husk the ambassador for humanity's legacy?

Was this the price for giving up?

I stumbled outside into the falling snow and followed the fresh tracks by the light of the rising sun. White puffs of air escaped my gaping mouth as I stopped where the little cemetery stood. There the monster kneeled, its oversized hands mending the broken crosses with a gentleness I didn’t think possible. Low noises escaped its throat as I crept forward.

“…if you have an open ear to the requests of a being as miserable as I, if you even exist at all, Lord, take pity on these kind souls,” the monster choaked in a scratchy French. “But you will not speak, will you? You never do.”

The monster stuck its mended cross in the ground, brushing the frizzy hair from its face. The black lips formed a half-smile. A human smile.

It, no, _he_ , was a human.

I wasn’t the last after all.

My previous judgments melted away. Suddenly the yellow eyes and lopsided face didn’t matter. Beneath them was a man who prayed, who shared an ability to reason and left food at my doorstep. My hardened heart beat again, pulsing all of my old desperation for companionship back through my veins. Forgetting our history, I stumbled toward him with open arms and an apology on my cracked lips. 

He flinched at my approach, backing away.

“No, don’t go!” I raked my brain for words of comfort. To strike a kind tone instead of a malicious threat. “I don’t want—” 

“I am fully aware of what you want.” The man addressed me, his hand drifting over the torn coat. “You wish to destroy me and rid the world of my wretched presence. My enemy, I am more than happy to oblige! I have smashed your boat. You cannot escape until one of us perishes! But not today. Clever as you were to track me, it shall take more than wits to best a fiend as monstrous as I!”

“That’s not what I want!” I gagged. “Not at all! I didn’t realize you were like me. Did the plague disfigure you?”

“I am nothing like you,” he hissed, backing away. “Just a ‘hideous wretch.’ A ‘mockery of mankind,’ right?”

“Please don’t go!”

Ignoring my cry, the man fled through the meadow with more than mortal speed, taking my prospects of happiness with him. 

“Come back!” I cried. “Please, please don’t leave me! I can’t be alone again. I just can’t be!”

The snow shielded him, leaving me in the company of the people beneath.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who gave Lionel an ax? Seriously, who thought this would end well for anyone?


	6. Never can True Reconcilement Grow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lionel dedicates his life to that mythical concept we call "damage control"

_"For never can true reconcilement grow,_

_Where wounds of deadly hate have pierced so deep..."_

_\--John Milton_

I followed the man’s tracks all night until the snow melted with the sunrise. Devastated, I drug myself back to his cabin where Bysshe huddled beside the overturned rocking chair. My dog licked his broken leg with a slow rhythm as I shuffled through the debris and grabbed two branches by the fire. Bysshe stayed silent as I tore bits from my quilt and wrapped up his leg in a makeshift splint. I didn’t dare look at the shattered mirror on the other end of the cabin. From the corner of my eye, its scattered fragments caught the glow of the fire’s dying embers to create orange shards of hellfire around us.

My stolen squirrel meat rested untouched by the windowsill. What looked to be a miniature half-built casket lay on its side nearby. The surrounding silence was pregnant with unspoken words. Words I had missed my chance to say.

A hollow moan escaped my throat and Bysshe flinched beside me. Silence filled the cabin once more. It was suffocating. I stumbled into the frigid outdoors and collapsed in the bushes. My body trembled from more than the cold as despair coiled itself around my limbs—paralyzing me with poisoned reality. Another man existed on this earth, and he was gone! Gone! I had chased away the last remnant of my species!

No, that wasn’t true. He promised we would meet again for a confrontation only one could leave alive. 

“I’m sorry,” I whimpered, my voice weak from exhaustion. With the hate drained away, what was left of me? “We are the last men alive. We cannot afford to be enemies! Not when loneliness poses a far greater adversary.”

The world stayed silent, keeping its secrets. He could be watching me now, learning my habits until the right time to strike. My nails dug into the frozen dirt. I had to convince the man of my goodwill before that day! 

*

For three days I waited for his return, but no one came over the hill. Even as I swept up the glass shards and organized the fallen clay pots with badly painted sheep on them, I knew he would never return to the cabin. My uninvited entree had broken the spell of peaceful homeliness and tainted the space with hatred. The ax marks on the furniture would feed the memory and suck any joy from the place. Restacking the toppled wood by the fire wouldn’t change the past. It wouldn’t bring back the ewe I had slain on our first encounter. I thought of the man’s heartbroken scream and how those brutish arms had cradled the corpse. There had been affection there.

His hatred was justified.

*

It was a slow journey back to the village. I slackened my pace so Bysshe could limp alongside me on his three good legs. Several squirrels had fallen prey to my snares on the path, and by the time we reached the village, I had a fistful of the critters swinging by their tails in each hand.

As we approached the cottage on the village’s edge, its door swung open and shut in the biting breeze. Had the man broken in during my absence? Rushing inside, I found the small lodging unchanged, save a drift of snow blown in with the wind. I forced myself to smile at my good fortune and lifted Bysshe onto the bed. His head tipped to the side as I propped his bad leg on the pillow and set a soup bowl with water and two squirrels beside him.

“Rest easy, boy, I’ll be back soon.” I turned away, scared of what I might find in the sheepdog’s eyes. This would be my first expedition without him.

As I shut the door behind me, I couldn’t tell if the hinges squeaked, or if Bysshe had let out a soft whine at my departure. All I knew, was how broken the man had sounded when he cradled the slain ewe to his chest. If I found the sheep, I would surely find the shepherd.

*

I used the flattened grass to track the flock. Winter’s hands had a tight hold upon the meadow and surrounding forest, and past experience told me the sheep would seek out a windbreaker to shelter from the cold.

I found the flock huddled against a mass of jagged stone at the edge of the meadow. Sure enough, the man was with them. He spoke in kind tones and patted the sheep as they fondly butted their heads against him. His hand idly stroked a little lamb snoozing on his lap, stopping only to pull a leaf off its fleece.

How could hands that caressed a lamb with such tenderness have torn apart my ship in a flurry of hatred? The man possessed great rage, but kindness too. I had to prove myself worthy of such affection. Only then could I hope to evoke a change of heart within the stranger. 

His French betrayed him as a foreigner to Italy’s coast, yet he knew the land well enough to evade me with ease. He likely immigrated to Bacoli and befriended the villagers before the plague decimated the town. Within the cottages, I could find clues to how he had once lived and how I might befriend him over common interests.

Unlike the musty homes of the village I had burned, Bacoli’s cottages were clean. Only a thin layer of dust had settled on the polished silverware and upright furniture. The clothes were hung and the beds were made, with the occasional toy horse or doll neatly tucked beneath the sheets of a child's bed. I knew from the grass covering the cemetery that the village had been dead for a long time. The mysterious man had likely been upkeeping the homes after their inhabitant’s demise.

The cottages were devoid of corpses, too. The man must have carried their limp bodies to the meadow and shoveled dirt over their paled skin. He had watched them die, one after the other, until he stood alone in the town square. No neighbors could help him tend his sheep or bake him pies during festivities. There was no one to wish him a happy birthday, though he probably abandoned the pointless dates of man as I had. 

I understood the agonies of isolation, yet I had mistaken his warped flesh for a monster instead of a broken heart! The plague had likely marked him with such dreadful malformities, perhaps it had given him great strength too? Little research had been done on the illness as it decimated town after town. Who was to say the flyer I had found wasn’t concocted by a passing traveler frightened by his ghastly appearance as I had been? What a fool I was to rush the stranger declaring us enemies! 

Weeks passed with me continuing to snare squirrels and change Bysshe's bandages. With his front leg still broken, he couldn’t accompany me on my hunting trips and walks along the shore. I missed him.

The loneliness grew too much to bear, and I endeavored to reach out to the man again. Reluctantly, I cracked open the sealed vault of my memories and waded through the images of crashing waves and splintering wood to find how Adrian had made a friend out of me when I was hellbent on revenge against him. He had come empty-handed, offering only his friendship to soothe my savage soul. I would approach the stranger in a similar fashion.

With a pair of dull scissors, I cut the hopeless knots from my beard and trimmed my matted hair back to my neck. After scrubbing the mud from my arms with a wet scrap of fabric, I rooted around the closet and found a moth-eaten peasant coat to replace my current rags. With any luck, a gentler appearance would win the man over. Leaving Bysshe enough food till dinner, I trekked to the meadow.

As the hilly plains came into view, I sensed something was wrong. The man was nowhere to be seen as the flock grazed near the edge of a steep drop. A ram spotted me and bleated a warning that sent the sheep pelting down the meadow. They hadn’t forgiven my attempt at making them into a meal. No matter, as the last sheep passed, I spotted the man bent over and stretching his arms down the cliffside. His tense shoulders were visible even from a distance. If the cliff face crumbled, he would plummet to whatever lay beneath!

I slunk over quietly, scared my sudden presence would startle the man and make him slip. Why was he leaning over such a steep drop? His arms were straining downward, as though he were reaching for something? Sweat soaked my new attire as suspense swamped me. 

The man had pulled his raven hair behind his ear, giving me a full view of his black lip’s frantic whispers. As I neared, the panicked cries of a lamb became clear. 

The man’s eyes never left what lay below the cliff as he stood and paced along the edge. I raised my hand in greeting. His yellow eyes met mine with a flinch. I forced back the bile in my throat and held his ghastly gaze.

“Where’s the lamb?” I demanded over the bleating. 

“Do you wish to kill him too?” The man challenged. His words came slow from a lack of practice.

“I want to help. I’m a retired shepherd.” Clattering sounded below, and I peered down to see a little lamb trembling on a ledge too small to place its hoofs beside each other. My eyes fell further, to the rocky bottom snaked with bubbling orange liquid creeping across the ground. Sweat ran down my arms from more than nerves. 

“Is that _lava?_ ” 

“I’m coming, little one!” The man leaned over the cliff again, arms grasping air several feet above the bawling lamb. The lamb shifted its hoofs to try and reach him, nearly stumbling off the ledge.

“Stop!” I drug the man back by the shoulder. His arm rose to strike me. I covered my face. “It's trying to climb to you—it’ll slip if you keep teasing it!” 

The man paused, considering. More clattering stones came from below as the bleating increased tenfold. The man’s lip quivered.

“William,” he muttered, lowering his fist.

“Pardon?”

“You called him an ‘it’. His name is William.”

“William,” I repeated, scanning the meadow. “Does he have any favorite foods?”

“He likes to nibble on carrots,” the man whimpered. He pulled the dried root from his cloak’s pocket and stroked it gently with his massive thumb.

I slid off my coat and rolled it up lengthwise on the grass. The smell of dust and mildew rose from the disturbed fabric as I handed the man an end.

“Not the best rope, but it will do,” I said, wrapping the fabric around my hand. “I’m the lighter of the two of us. Lower me down and I’ll grab William, then you pull us up.”

“Never!” The man clenched his fists. “You will hurt him.”

“You have the rope,” I pleaded, blinking away the blackness on the edges of my vision. The lava’s fumes were making my head heavy. The man seemed unaffected, but my window to help was closing fast. “Why would I act against you when my life will quite literally be in your hands?”

The man frowned, glancing at the flock grazing in the distance, then me. 

“Please, I can not have him die again,” he whispered, handing me the carrot. I took the root from his palm, jerking back as his freezing flesh brushed mine. It was like a bolt of ice had shot up my arm! I instantly regretted pulling away, but the man had turned before I could apologize. 

I placed the carrot between my teeth and grabbed my end of the old coat. Praying the motheaten fabric would hold, I lowered myself down the cliff, keeping my hands on the fabric while my feet lodged into the small crevices to help with the descent. The lava sizzled beneath me as I shook sweat from my eyes. The scabs on my back cracked from the awkward position and sent fresh blood soaking through my new shirt. My teeth sunk into the carrot as the wounds pulsed pain through me like little heartbeats. The stranger lowered me closer to where William huddled. The lamb sprang to his feet with a scream as he spied my approach.

“Nice sheepy, nice little William,” I cooed, keeping my eyes on the far-off ground to avoid intimidating the lamb. “I’m a friend.”

William studied me through black eyes, his little flank rising and falling. I was close enough to grab him, but any sudden movements could send him leaping over the ledge into the lava below. I had to be smart. My lungs choked on the sooty air, I could feel my arms shaking with fatigue as my right hand dropped to my side. I pried the carrot from my mouth and offered it to William. William’s ears perked. His neck strained to sniff the plant. He bit off a chunk and chewed. My free arm wrapped around his little body and pulled the distracted lamb to my chest. I nodded to the man above. The rolled coat tightened as I felt myself lifting. 

Blackness covered more of my vision, and my feet went limp. I concentrated all of my energy on clutching the coat and lamb.

“You’re going to be okay, William,” I slurred, stroking his fuzzy fleece with my thumb.

A cold hand wrapped around my neck. William’s warmth vanished. A second hand gripped my shoulder and yanked me forward. Grass tickled my arms, galvanizing me to life. I struggled to my feet, shaking my throbbing head as the black film receded. 

The man stood across from me, holding his lamb joyfully in the air.

“Little William! My little lamb!” he sobbed, hugging the sheep as it licked his nose with a pale pink tongue. 

“I can’t believe that worked!” I panted, giving the wadded coat a sharp kick. Several seams had torn—it could have ripped apart at any moment. 

“You were wise to distract William with the carrot. He would never have let a stranger get close otherwise,” the man said. 

“I’m just lucky you had one on you!” 

We shared a smile—two humans proud of a job well done. I extended my hand.

“I fear I haven’t introduced myself yet. My name is Lionel Verney. What would yours be?”

The man’s shoulders tensed. I had meant for us to reintroduce ourselves as friends, but the rage in the stranger’s eyes told me I had done something horribly wrong. 

“I have no name.” His voice sounded more like a growl.

“Nonsense, every creature has a name!” I laughed louder than intended. 

“Every creature of God, yes. My creator was not so generous.”

“Your creator?” A cold breeze blew between us, chilling my sweat-slick skin. What could I say to make him stay? What would Adrian do?

The man nodded, as though my silence was a confirmation. For what, I couldn’t say.

“This changes nothing.” He tightened his grip on William and turned to leave.

“Wait, don’t go! Whatever you are not telling me, Monsieur, it is not so great that we cannot be friends! We are the last men alive, let us come together in love instead of hatred!”

“You were right the first time, Verney. I am no man. I am nothing like you.”

“You feel love and regret. Are those not what makes us human?” I challenged, quoting Adrian. 

The stranger froze, his hair whipping in the breeze. An idle thumb stroked William’s little head. 

“My sins have barred me from that world, Verney. I am unworthy to be a friend of man.” He chuckled, and I found myself leaning away. Madness rippled there. “It is selfish of me to even pursue you as an enemy.”

A distant explosion sent the ground shuttering with a force that made my fatigued legs collapse on the grass. 

“The Romans placed their god Vulcan here in the Phlegraean Fields for good reason,” the man recited above me. “Beware the volcanic terrain, Verney.” 

When I stood, the stranger was but a speck in the distance herding the sheep away. Chasing them in my condition was pointless, so I watched until the hills swallowed them up. My back throbbed from my open wounds—the price of benevolence! But I couldn’t stop now, could I?

“Adrian,” I moaned, clutching my skull. “How can I reach him?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I added some more content to flesh out Lionel's thought in the beginning last minute, so let me know if the pacing is alright!
> 
> Also, we finally discover where Lionel is trapped: the good ol' Phlegraean Fields! Home of Vulcan, the god who chained up Prometheus so eagles would peck out his liver. Considering Lionel sails out of Rome at the end of The Last Man, it wasn't much of a geological stretch for him to end up in such a important location. Why is Creature there, though???

**Author's Note:**

> **Assuming most readers aren't familiar with TLM, this first chapter is mostly explaining the setting and who Lionel is as a character. I don't rely on the OG novel's events too heavily after this, so if you've never read TLM it shouldn't be confusing (though I do try and continue character arcs and elements from the original for those familiar with the text). **
> 
> Blurp:  
> Mary Shelley’s novel The Last Man has all the gothic undertones and messages about companionship that makes Frankenstein so beloved, yet there’s little fan work for a story that’s honestly way more tragic than Frankenstein! 
> 
> Lionel starts out as an unloved orphan lashing out at a world that treated him unkindly (hello, Creature) only to be shown kindness by Adrian that prompted him to abandon his savageness and become an admirable member of society. He had friends, a family, and opened his home and love to evacuees while a global plague devastated humanity around him. Lionel was kind, and that kindness was rewarded by losing the people he loved until he was the last man on earth.  
> Victor and Creature voluntarily gave up on humanity, but Lionel lacks that luxury—there’s no one left. That, and how the novel contains many parallels to the deceased people from Mary Shelley’s former freind circle make TLM a truly gut-wrenching read. 
> 
> So here’s my attempt to continue Lionel’s story after the novel’s conclusion when he embraces a life of reckless danger and shuns who he once was. I hope everyone can enjoy it as much as I did while writing!
> 
> NOTE: Despite taking place in the distant future of 2100, TLM’s technological advancements are more akin to the 19th century, and since Lionel searching Amazon warehouses for the last fidget spinner doesn’t sit right with me, I’m carrying over the more primitive setting from the original novel. That being said, I have borrowed elements from the latter half of the 19th century, such as wire fencing and matchboxes, for narrative purposes.


End file.
